Synergy
by Zelha
Summary: The dynamics of three lonely people. KakaSakuYama, an experiment I wanted to try.


**Disclaimer:** Nope, not mine. I dedicate this piece to CelticOak, MitsukiShiroi and Katwamp.

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**S****ynergy**

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_The interaction of two or more agents or forces so that their combined effect is greater than the sum of their individual effects._

Eventually, everything resumed to an understanding glance, a word, a smile that she actually could see because it wasn't hiding behind a bright yellow sun, or a stormy blue sky or a still dark night.

It wasn't hard for Sakura to see it in the most beneficial way, since they saved her more than once, including from that old love, that old heartache that she still felt in that moment when those onyx eyes stared at her with so much... what? Coldness? Disregard? Disinterestedness? Fury?

Later she could laugh at Naruto, hiding behind her back from their so-called scary faces and their raised proverbs, direct and well aimed like all of their jutsu.

Nonetheless, those teachings that were denied at her for having fallen in that old and stereotyped 'protection' were forgiven, forgotten and rewarded with lasting moments of words, of acknowledging, of uncovered kisses and memories from more than one scar that marked a reality and a feeling, a sentiment that grew on them with time.

A lot of people in Konoha would have called her a whore, to say the least.

But Sakura didn't think about labels when she lay between them.

Surely, it was more like a side of her that only they knew; it was the utmost expression of the meaning of 'being needed'. To walk side by side, instead of watching retreating backs.

Side by side. Acceptance, respect, consideration.

And where there were two, why wasn't it possible to squeeze in a third?

Kakashi had given her more than looking underneath the underneath; truly, ANBU taught its ops well, everything was analyzed: the shortest word, the briefest glance, the most silent sigh.

And when Kakashi didn't find his way out of his guilt, Tenzou was there, either to talk, to argue, to have a conversation that went beyond orange books and beef ramen and special inks and revenges and deaths and uncertainties.

She received, accepting everything they both had to offer her. In exchange, her heart, that overwhelming strength of her that directed either her fists or her words, her tears, her sympathy, her smile and her grand empathy, she gave them all freely, between moans and whispers that bloomed across the stillness of the Leaf night.

A combination of movements, more than two but no more than three. According to the wicked opinion of one silver-haired man, with hands so gifted than only a genius could have, only they were enough for her. It could never be understood if it was observed from the outside, about the mechanics of their encounters, of their reminiscences, of their moments.

Tenzou made her laugh as mush as Kakashi made her angry with his one and thousand excuses. But she forgave them, because in the end she could never be without either one of them. She never had the nerve to leave them waiting, not even in missions, when they lay in a pool of their own blood and she battled an internal and ill-developing phobia for blood -blood everywhere, blood in their clothes, blood in their faces, blood in their bodies-, making her hands glow with that soft green luminosity that always made them sigh with relief and, inwardly, even though neither of them would admit it, feel that gratefulness for those soft but rough hands whenever they were needed.

Tenzou was a practical man. No one knew even one pet peeve of his, not like Kakashi, that even with his damned mask on he made faces to tempura. Yamato didn't have quirks either, and nobody could claim about encountering him at social events. But, it was well known among the right people that many of the trees of the Forest of Death were his doing. A genetic experiment that for many was considered a failure, for Sakura, when seeing him using his gift to refill a forest section around the village, it was more than a blessing.

A unique ability, she liked to ponder as some branches held her kindly, allowing their creator to get close, to inhale her scent and to bore into her like there was no tomorrow, gallant in movements, rough in feelings, complete in redemption.

More than a thousand techniques that weren't useful when the shinobi that used to gloat about them shed his masks and got to what he had really learned from those books that he liked so much: making her scream until her throat was raw with every vibrant touch was his coup of grace, every caress were his own personal and much more enjoyed pastime, forgetting for a moment about the weight of the past, of the present and of the future.

If someone would have asked -of course, if they were up to responding anyway-, Tenzou would have answered about the utmost understanding than only like minds could reach. Kakashi, however, would have pointed out about the quality of a heart that went down the road of life with a predetermined destination.

In the end, neither of them admitted in public -and never to each other-, how much they needed those hands, those eyes, that soul.

Soon, each of them surrendered to the evidence; she couldn't choose only one of them. And no one could really blame or criticize her for being selfish -true, more than once she was this close to oblivion for overdoing it in her care for them, healing even to the slightest scratch, which was exactly what marked her levels of selfishness-, they came to accept conclusively that, although they had to share her between them, it was better to do so with each other that with someone else; better them than with an emotional handicapped potty mouth, better them than with an avenger without illusions and hopes or a Hokage wannabe that was indeed clueless about his surroundings.

No one should think badly about them, please. This was only about sincerity and the reality of facts that they surveyed thoroughly. Sakura was too damn sweet to say otherwise, so it was up to them to actually have the responsibility to protect her... even if she wasn't aware of it.

And thus, a routine was established. Some nights she spent with the Copy Nin, some others with the ANBU Captain. And some others -demanded by the prized top Med-Nin in the whole Hidden Village of Leaf - where both of them managed to rip out her anguish and all the undervalues from her senses, among caresses and contortions that were so goddamn impressive she never would have imagined herself performing on a horizontal plane.

Teamwork, they would say in utter sarcasm, only to hear the soft and tired feminine chuckle, tinkling like bells in their ears and under their skin.

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_ - Tenna' ento lye omenta -  
_


End file.
